Reason To Hope
by MorningGlory2
Summary: Over missions together, moments of training and moments of intimacy, Bucky and Natasha work to reacquaint themselves all over again, and while it's not all smooth sailing, some moments definitely leave behind a reason for both Bucky and Natasha to hope that the life ahead of them is worth all the loss and pain of their pasts.


This was a labor of love for the BuckyNat Mini Bang on Tumblr! Huge thanks go to **_yawpkatsi_** on Tumblr for the AMAZING artwork she did for this fic (I am SERIOUSLY in love with it and want it framed, omg-it's the thumbnail here), to **_midnightwings96_** for hours and hours she spent editing this, letting me hit her with ideas constantly, and her endless encouragement, and to **_Team Damon_** here on ffnet for allowing me to run with her idea of scar-kissing between Bucky and Natasha (I hope I did it justice!) and for her endless support! I loved writing this (it might be the longest thing I've written to date!) and I love this couple!

Please let me know if you liked it! Thanks for reading! :D

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"Reason to Hope"

James Buchanan Barnes had lived a long, arduous, weary life. Once a light, joyous young man with a quick wit, a protective streak, and an unflinching charm, it had all been violently ripped away by an evil hand that life seemed to continuously deal him. He had lost everything. His family, his sister, his brother in arms and best friend, _all_ of it, gone with a shot of a gun and a plummet to the cold earth below that would have killed any normal man.

But Bucky was anything but normal. He was rapidly approaching his 100th birthday, and despite his actual age, only a fraction of that time had truly been worth living. Nearly 25 years of torture to make him break, to let go of his memories he so tightly clung to, 50 years in and out of cryogenic stasis, God knows how much time he spent gritting his teeth against a guard and screaming through white-hot electricity shooting through his skull.

By God's grace (or some sick joke, depending on how you thought about it), Bucky had survived all of it. He had survived, but he hadn't _lived._

That's why, intermittent between reliving nightmarish memories that would make him shake and break into a cold sweat at night and haunting noises and images plaguing his mind during the day, he did feel some sort of tiny semblance of...hope. Of a second chance on the horizon. Despite his already-long life, he still looked and physically felt thirty years old. _Better_ than thirty. Thanks to Steve and his unwavering support and his surprising, newfound ally in T'Challa, it was like he had his entire life ahead of him. Most of the time, that scared the shit out of him, but sometimes... _sometimes_ , he could imagine finding a light at the end of this very long, very dark tunnel that has been his life for the past 70 years.

So here he was, learning how to use his newly crafted arm. This new prosthetic was top of the line - if there was such a thing - created by Wakandan doctors and scientists. It was integrated into his nervous system and his muscular tissues just as his other one was, but it was light, easier to move and easier to handle. The feeling of the arm was about the same, the touch and grip had better control, and his back problems alleviated without the pain of carrying around the heavier arm. He only wished the weight of all he'd done didn't continue to weigh so heavily on his spirit.

The programming was still embedded deep in his mind. The Wakandan scientists had done several tests-without triggering him-to see the extent of the damage and brainwashing HYDRA had caused. Without knowing all the codes they had implemented within Bucky, there was no telling how far it ran and how much it would take to remove. The last thing Bucky wanted was to be triggered again, for any reason, even if it might possibly help in the end. And the only way to learn how to override it was to find the red book Helmut Zemo had used back in Berlin. Unfortunately Steve was having a hell of a time getting his hands on the damn thing, government logistics and all, not to mention Tony Stark wasn't exactly being helpful.

Which was also part of the reason that Bucky and Steve were still in Wakanda. Steve had come and gone frequently while Bucky had been in stasis and under the watch of T'Challa. T'Challa had offered to keep Bucky safe, and provided him with the best possible care, given his condition. Neither man could pass that up. Bucky wasn't one to need or ask for help, but as far as Steve was concerned, this was the best place for Bucky to be. So Bucky relented and let the powerful man help him. He couldn't deny Steve. Not after everything the man had risked for him.

T'Challa also offered an extensive therapy program, which - unsurprisingly - was what Bucky dreaded the most. Reliving his past was not something he particularly enjoyed doing, and having to do it with someone he didn't know-it was excruciating. But both Steve and T'Challa had insisted and again, who was Bucky to turn away from the two people who were doing everything they could to help him? So he went. Every day. Like clockwork. An hour spent with a very respected psychologist from T'Challa's kingdom. And while he hated it, abhorred every moment spent reliving every life he'd taken, every enemy he had made, every action he regretted while under HYDRA'S thumb, he couldn't deny that occasionally he did sleep better at night. The nightmares weren't completely gone - probably never would be - but every once in a while, he could get some rest.

Memories typically surfaced in dreams and nightmares, but also during the occasional waking hour when something would trigger them. Today it had been pancakes. They'd brought forth a flow of memories of a redhead with vibrant green eyes and thighs that could kill, and while he had known her in this new life, he had _forgotten_ pieces of their history until now. Breakfast at a pancake house after a particularly rough mission leading to the assassination of a world leader. Breakfast that lead to a heated, rushed moment on the back of his motorcycle as the sun had risen over the secluded spot where they'd stopped. The memory had hit him like a runaway train, not stopping until their long kiss goodbye, when he then returned to his handlers and she returned to her arranged pick-up spot. He'd divulged the entire thing to this therapist in a rare case of rambling, shocked to the core over the graphic memory, and while he didn't give every spicy detail, recalling it had left him wound too tight to head back to his room to try and rest.

And when he couldn't rest, and he didn't want to focus on how many years he'd lost, he trained. Training was the one thing he still had that he could lose himself in, and under the guise of needing to break in the new arm, he put himself through the ringer with anyone who had the confidence - or idiocy - to spar against him. If that wasn't an option, he would have a speedbag or a heavy bag at his mercy. And that was where he was tonight, deep in the palace, down in the state-of-the-art fitness facility designed specifically for enhanced people like himself. With abnormal amounts of strength and stamina, he worked out his frustrations over a set of particularly fresh and devastating memories that had only risen to the surface recently. And if possible, made the self-hate grow ten-fold.

He could hear the footsteps, sensed the immediate change in the room. He was almost impossible to sneak up on, though it seemed the person approaching didn't have that intention. If the footfalls had been heavier, he would have known it was Steve. But it wasn't. That light, dance-like saunter in that particular stride was ingrained somewhere deep in his mind. And it was only fitting that the one person causing him so much angst would decide that _now_ was the time she made her grand entrance. She always did have a knack for knowing just when she was being thought about.

Bucky didn't acknowledge her presence for a long while, but he knew she was there. His back to her, he never bothered to look as he worked himself into a heated sweat, pounding into the heavy bag until the knuckles on his right hand bled through the tape. He didn't feel the pain, knew they'd heal within the hour. Minutes, even. He only felt bad for leaving the splattered red marks on the tan rawhide of the otherwise pristine equipment.

Bucky hit the bag until he was desperate for water, chest heaving and drips of sweat cascading down the sides of his clean shaven face. Steve had thought maybe shaving would give him an inch of himself back. Bucky wasn't so sure - HYDRA had never let him grow a beard - but he had humored Steve and kept it up a few days. Everyone around him was trying to help. He didn't know how much good it was doing, but he still appreciated it.

At one time, the woman across the room had been the only thing able to silence the monsters in his mind. The only good thing of it all. And seeing her again was a punch to the gut reminder of everything once more; now no longer in hazy black and white, but in harshly vivid splashes of color as they played on repeat across the broken movie screen of his mind.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't sure what she was about to get herself into as she entered the gym where she knew a one James Barnes was hiding out, working out his demons. She had agreed to come to Wakanda after some persuasion; Steve could be quite convincing. His number one priority was Bucky, and while she was not as keen to focus her priorities in one spot usually, the man before her tended to have pull over those emotions within her just as he did with Steve. She and Steve had that in common - they both cared deeply for the man called the Winter Soldier.

That didn't change the fact that they cared for him in different ways. Steve started a war between his friends and Avengers over his lost best friend, and she had no doubt Steve would go to the ends of the universe to protect him. She, on the other hand, was a little less quick to get so involved. At the time, during all the heat, she had thought it was the Winter Soldier behind the United Nations attack right along with Tony and T'Challa - the faked picture had been unforgiving. But upon learning that it hadn't been him and the mess continuing to unfold, lines became blurred and her loyalties slightly skewed.

During one of the times she had come to keep Steve company while Bucky was in cryo, she'd confessed to Steve a few key points about her past relationship with Bucky. She had been working under the radar, doing some extra jobs, trying to find her fit amongst the new dynamics in light of all that had happened between Steve and Tony. She didn't mind working with Steve, there was a mutual understanding and deep respect between them for who they were and what they each stood for now. And with him now knowing more about her past with Bucky...well, he suddenly seemed to think she was a huge piece in bringing him back and helping him work through his current state.

Natasha leaned against the wall next to his awaiting water and towel, having been purposefully not quiet in her entrance. She'd chosen athletic leggings and an easy top, sneakers, pulled her hair back. Watching him beat the bag into smithereens, her silent assumptions to herself had been correct - he needed a sparring partner, someone who could handle his strength and his speed. And while Steve could, he didn't have the technical training Bucky did. However, Bucky had trained _her._ She could challenge him in a way even Steve couldn't.

Natasha wasn't sure how much he remembered. Steve hadn't mentioned it and she was sure Bucky hadn't either. After watching him for almost thirty minutes, knowing he was still just as worked up and consumed by his angst as he had been when he had started, she waited until he stopped abusing the heavy bag in need of water, catching his haunted blue eyes as he crossed the room toward her.

" _In need of a sparring partner_?" slipped from her lips automatically in Russian, navigating their waters tentatively. Without even blinking or questioning the language, his response was automatic,

" _You think you can handle it?_ " Bucky grabbed his water, taking a long, slow drink from the gallon jug, and she wasn't sure if he was being teasing or honest in his question. Smirking, she rolled her eyes, pushing off the white wall, heading for the center of the large, blue mat.

" _I can handle it better than that punching bag you defeated_ ," she sassed him in reply, tightening her red ponytail and taking a relaxed, ready stance to let him know she was ready for the attack when he was ready to begin.

" _Didn't I teach you English?_ " he questioned as he fell into a similar stance in front of her, swaying slightly as he anticipated her first move. She didn't make one just yet, eyeing him with mischief.

" _Yes_ ," was all she gave him as they squared off, waiting for the other to make the first move. Bucky raised a brow and eyed her wearily.

"W _hy the Russian then_?" he questioned, finally throwing out a small, slow jab that she allowed to hit its mark on her shoulder. He was testing her, she knew it. She knew his fight patterns better than anyone-she could fight him in her sleep. She didn't even flinch.

" _Old times sake_?" she shrugged, the kick to her thigh taking her by surprise but not hard enough to take her down. She stumbled a little but kept on circling him.

Bucky shook his head with a huff of a laugh, advancing on her, a little surprised himself when she didn't back up. She took his hits with precision, blocking them as if they'd used this pattern before. And maybe they had. If so, he was at a disadvantage. It was frustrating. " _My therapist put you up to this?_ " Who else would make her come down here and speak Russian at him? He figured it was the man's way of trying to draw memories from the depths of his mind.

" _To come down here, avoid your bloody knuckles and charm you in Russian? No, it was my own. Figured we could take a walk down memory lane together_ ," her sassy tone and small, confident smile threw him, and he wasn't prepared for the jab he took to the jaw, her strength stunning him, even though it shouldn't have. He stumbled back, shaking his head and when he set his jaw again, she saw fire in those icy blue eyes. _Good_ , she thought.

"English, Romanova," he shot at her before advancing on her this time with a swiftness she remembered, fighting to keep the smile off her face. Finally. Someone she could really use her skills on, the skills Bucky had taught her. Natasha fought back, not missing a beat as their scuffle took a more violent approach. For her own enjoyment, she did all she could to avoid those damn bloody knuckles.

"I thought you'd like the Russian better," she teased him, climbing him like a cat, latching herself around him, her arm around his neck, secured by the other. When he twisted his shoulder and sent them both to the floor, she anticipated the hard mat as her back hit it, but Bucky seemed to weigh more than she remembered as he pinned her to the mat with his broad, sweaty body. A small _'oomph'_ left her lips and left him grinning, though not for long. Wrapping those deadly legs around his head, she wrestled him to the ground.

"I think I've had enough of Russia for one lifetime," he grumbled from his place on the mat between her thighs and was surprised when she laughed out.

"I'll try not to take offense to that," she teased him further, and he felt remorse for a moment before he yanked her off his neck and tossed her like a rag doll onto the mat. She rolled expertly to land on her hands and feet, stunned by being tossed so roughly. He usually held back a bit when they sparred - apparently today he was choosing not to. It had been quite a number of years anyway.

"I can imagine you know _exactly_ what I mean," he all but growled at her as he pushed himself to his feet. She wasn't about to acknowledge that her shoulder hurt like hell where it hit the mat.

Bucky didn't know why he was frustrated but her endless chatter had him on edge. But maybe that was her point, he realized. She was pressing his buttons, and it was setting him on fire.

Natasha cocked her head a little and narrowed her eyes, "Why don't you elaborate, _Soldat_?"

It only took about four seconds for her to realize there was no holding back for Bucky Barnes this time. Whether it was pent up frustration, anger or self-hatred she wasn't sure. He must have known she could handle him because for once he didn't hold back. So she didn't hold back either.

And when she declared herself the winner of their match an hour later, as she staggered to her feet with a bloody lip and a black eye, she knew she'd won on a deeper level. Barnes lay at her feet, heaving and sporting a little gash to his cheek, admitting defeat and taking it like the man she knew him to be. She couldn't help but smile a little. "It's a compliment to your training, you know. The fact I can kick your ass."

"Now I have _really_ had my fill of Russia," he grumbled and groaned as she headed for the door, meeting Steve as she pulled the door open. His eyes widened when he saw her bruised face and widened more as he saw Bucky moving to his hands and knees slowly where she'd left him.

"Natasha," Steve began as he held the door for her as she sauntered out and away down the hall, evidently the victor, "I asked you to help him, not beat the crap out of him."

"He needed to be challenged, Rogers. So I challenged him."

Natasha waited until she was around the corner and out of sight to finally limp a little; her ankle was killing her. But her smile only grew. If she were honest with herself, she had needed some challenging too. He would always be her match.

Thus began a work partnership that even Steve was impressed with. He knew Bucky and Natasha had worked together in her youth, but seeing them in action was something impressive. They were seamless, seemed to anticipate the other's move before it happened. Bucky couldn't explain it and Steve didn't make him try, but Natasha would say it was the years they worked together in the past. And while Bucky couldn't yet speak for those years, he trusted her and trusted her words to be true. She had done nothing to prove otherwise. She had his back in every sense.

On missions, they were precise. They spoke a language no one else understood-looks, gestures, simple tells that would alert the other to what was happening. Undercover work became a thing for them. Platonic, business partner relationships were how it started as they worked through intel Steve and his inner circle gathered. Both Natasha and Bucky had a vendetta with HYDRA, but Steve always saw the bigger picture and was able to focus the pair on broader targets. Bucky and Natasha would go in to flesh out whether it was worth acting on, and if it was, Steve would roll in with his team, consisting of Sam, Wanda, Scott, and occasionally Clint, when he wasn't at home with his family. The team's work together became efficient; they worked as a well-oiled machine.

One particular mission three months into their partnership led Bucky and Natasha straight into a firefight with a dozen firearms smugglers. It was a side job Natasha was working for a friend of a friend, and she had asked Bucky to tag along with her as backup. They were searching for stolen firearms, and while they found the guns, they also had the unfortunate luck of finding the smugglers too. .

"'Help me find some stolen guns, it'll be fun' she said," Bucky sarcastically quipped as he took out two guys, before slipping back behind a pillar to reload, the warehouse full of gunpowder and bullets. Wasn't anything that he wasn't used to, but it was nerve-wracking nonetheless. He and Natasha were used to fighting under pressure, but something about being in the basement of a warehouse that could go up in flames at any moment with Natasha still inside left him with unease. He was still working through their past and a few memories had resurfaced, but nothing he had yet recounted with her. They were still too fresh and he was still too nervous about bringing it up.

" _Fun_ was not the word I used. Entertaining maybe, but definitely not fun," Natasha called from a few feet away before taking a man to the ground with those killer thighs, leaving Bucky a little breathless himself, before he refocused and took out the next guy that came at him, using his arm to deflect a few bullets.

The metal limb sent the bullets flying in random directions, and one hit a mark it had not been intended for. Natasha's small cry left Bucky distracted for a mere moment, long enough to let one of their attackers take a knife to his thigh. Grunting in pain, he tossed the man easily aside, his sole focus now on Natasha and getting her out of there in one piece.

"Nat! Where'd it hit?" Bucky called out to her in a slightly frantic tone, only to be met with her casual laugh.

"It's a flesh wound, Barnes. No worse than anything you've given me before. Stay focused!"

The words made him mentally stumble, brows furrowing as he tried to figure out what she meant, wracking his brain as he tossed a metal table at two of the guys, one of them being the one who fired the bullets to begin with, and knocked them unconscious. "Flesh wound? Tell me where," he called back to her, no less worried as he pistol-whipped another guy and was finally able to turn and look at her, concern evident on his face.

Natasha was favoring her right leg, and though it was hard to see on her black bodysuit, Bucky spotted the blood-soaked fabric along her calf. Stomach lurching, he decided it was time to neutralize their enemy and be done here. He needed to tend to her; she was his ultimate priority.

Thirty minutes and twelve men down later, he had Natasha perched on the same metal table he'd used as a weapon, using the left sleeve off his long-sleeved black shirt as a bandage. "You're not completely immortal, you know," he told her with a slight smile, tying off the sleeve around her leg and helping her to her feet.

"What, like you?" the redhead teased, shooting him a look and a roll of her eyes as he helped her up the stairs, an extraction team already on their way to intercept the large inventory they had secured. "I'm fine."

"You are, this time. The bullet only nicked you," he replied, frustrated at how she played it off. His worry was evident on his face, the shadows in his eyes.

They reached the top of the stairs after a long moment of silence, Natasha worrying her lip and biding her time. "You getting soft on me, soldier?" she tried to keep it light, knew they were headed down a heavy road that he probably wasn't prepared for.

They stilled at the top of the staircase, both able to hear the distant sound of cars. He turned toward her slightly, eyes on the wound on her leg as he still helped her bear her weight. "You said it was nothing worse than what I've done to you. What…what have I done to you?" he muttered, his eyes revealing how disturbed he felt at the very thought. He was scared to even ask but was more scared for the answer.

"I shouldn't have said anything, James. Don't worry about it," she replied with exasperation, taking a few steps away on her own, hiding her face and her own regret. She had been sassy in the moment, not realizing that he may not remember the physical pain he'd inflicted on her more than once, not by his own will but that of the Winter Soldier. She should have known better than to bring up those moments, should have known he'd tear himself apart over them.

"I am gonna worry about it," he snapped as he grabbed her arm gently, drawing her back to look at him. It was evident in his blue eyes how much her statement had shook him, and she knew she owed him a story or two. It was easier to tell him he'd almost strangled her on a table than it was to tell him he'd shot at her twice, nonfatal shots obviously, but had left some pretty hefty scarring. Natasha was sure it wasn't the bedtime story he was looking for. The tinge of his Brooklyn accent that came out in his words made a smile ghost across her own lips. They hadn't taken it all from him.

Before she could reply, voices grew closer to the door and he released her arm, his flesh hand dropping back to his side. She would need to handle the extraction team while he waited dutifully by her side, mulling over everything she'd said. And though she hadn't said much, somehow knowing he had hurt _her_ weighed much heavier on him than anything.

The conversation didn't come up again. Bucky knew she was keeping whatever had happened close to the vest, and he couldn't bring himself to ask Steve. So he suffered in silence and pretended he wasn't dwelling. Except in therapy, where she was a constant topic. He made sure to tell his therapist everything, no matter how hard it was. After several months he was finally opening up. The therapist credited Natasha, while Bucky wouldn't vocally go that far. Silently, he credited her with everything. Including his current bout of self-hatred.

In her efforts to draw him out of whatever funk he seemed to be suffering from, she took him to Clint's family farm to meet his family. Their work with Steve had brought them back to the states as of late, and their new home base gave Natasha the idea. She had told him he needed a few days away and Bucky didn't think it could hurt anything. So he sat quietly in the passenger seat of the truck she borrowed from Steve and took them far out into the country.

Bucky had to admit, the farther into the farmland they drove, the lighter he felt. That is, until she pulled into the drive of the quaint farmhouse and he spotted three children playing in the yard with a large yellow Labrador. Bucky did not do well with children.

He swallowed hard and was glad the sunglasses shielded his eyes, for they were wider than they should have been and he knew Natasha would call him out if she saw.

She did anyway.

"You all right over there, Barnes, or is your old heart going to give out?"

Her jest brought him out of his panicked state, brushing a loose hair that had fallen from his bun behind his ear. "I'm fine," he grumbled quietly, clenching his jaw and fighting the urge to fight for the driver's seat and drive them back to the city. Three days in the middle of nowhere with three kids and a dog? He wasn't sure he was made for this anymore.

Natasha parked the truck and climbed out, and Bucky watched through the windshield as a chorus of excited squeals rang out from the children as they ran her way, arms outstretched. "Auntie Nat! Auntie Nat!" The sight tugged at his pounding heart. Natasha hadn't let on just how well these kids knew her. And he hadn't been prepared to see them overrun her as she stretched out her own arms, falling to her knees to embrace all three, the littlest one a stumbling toddler who was the last to the hug but held the longest by the redhead.

When Natasha finally stood after the reunion, she looked back to the truck for Bucky, who had yet to emerge. She knew this would be hard for him, had anticipated it, but seeing him so tentative and stuck in the cab of the truck didn't make it any easier for her. No one had made it her job to fix him, but that didn't stop her from trying to help him in any way that she could. And maybe she took those opportunities to get closer to him. After all their years separated, she couldn't help herself. She had missed him.

Nothing had yet grown between them though, of that she was painfully aware. She was more trusting than he, and she was okay with that. Natasha was more centered in herself after all, and he was still coming to terms with a lot. How could he love her, _still_ love her after all this time, when he didn't love himself? She wasn't sure he ever could. But that wouldn't stop her from loving him with every fiber of her being. She'd held a candle for him all these years, after everything she'd been through without him, because he was the one person who had always understood her. Even if she could never tell him or show him just how much she cared, she'd harbor that love until her dying day.

With a wave of her hand and an encouraging smile, she urged him from the truck and with heavy reluctance, he finally climbed out, both hands shoved in his pockets as he slowly approached the small herd of children and their panting dog. Clint hollered out a hello from the porch, a brunette beside him who Bucky knew must be Laura, his wife. He'd had no idea Clint was so domestic until only days before when Natasha had told him they were taking a small trip. He knew Clint understood a little of what Bucky had been through - Natasha had filled him in on what had happened with Loki - and it did help Bucky to feel slightly better about being himself in front of the man. He knew all Steve's friends knew what he was going through, but it made him feel a little less of a focus knowing Clint had experience with mind control.

The dog wagged his tail excitedly as Bucky approached, tongue out and mouth open as he trotted to meet the super-soldier half way on his trek to where Natasha stood. Bucky eyed the animal warily; when was the last time he had met a dog? He had a blurry memory of a German Shepherd growling at him years ago while on mission. Had he met one since? He wasn't sure, but as the yellow Lab bounced on his paws at Bucky's feet, he didn't know how to react.

"He won't bite, I promise," Clint called out as he got closer, a friendly smile on his face as he greeted Natasha with a hug. Bucky stared at the animal for another moment, as if still unsure of whether the dog would take his arm off the minute he touched it, or if as soon as he saw the metal hand if it would send the dog into a protective state. The two older kids regarded Bucky with questioning stares, but the toddler had other ideas.

Pulling at the pant leg of Bucky's jeans, the little boy pointed at the dog as Bucky froze at the first tug. It was almost stimulation overload and admittedly, Natasha held her breath as she watched him, waiting for his reaction.

"'S Lucky," the little boy told Bucky the best he could as the lab closed in on the boy, licking his face and leaving him in giggles. Bucky tried to fight the small smile that pushed itself to his lips, but it was no use. Even in all his fear, he wasn't immune to the moment. The boy had come over to introduce his dog to a man he only knew as his Auntie Nat's friend. He showed no fear of his own, and it let Bucky ask himself why _he_ was so afraid.

"That's Nate," Clint introduced as he finally approached Bucky, extending his hand to the other man, who took it after a small hesitation, but only because he was still watching Nate and Lucky. "He's the family greeter," he chuckled and Bucky allowed the first real smile to cross his face.

"He's cute," Bucky admitted, glancing at the other kids who looked on from next to their mother.

"Bucky, this is Cooper and Lila, and my wife Laura," Clint introduced them. Bucky shook Laura's hand, giving her a smile before offering the kids a small wave. It seemed to be enough for them for that moment as they took Natasha's hands and dragged her off toward the barn. She threw Bucky an apologetic smile but he brushed it off with one of his own. He'd be fine, he assured himself. "Let me show you the farm," Clint offered, taking Nate's hand as started toward the house. Bucky looked Natasha's way one more time, watching her laugh with the children as though she didn't have a worry in the world and filed the sight away for later. Seeing her that carefree was a breath of fresh air he hadn't known he needed.

Laura made a home cooked meal for dinner that night like Bucky hadn't experienced since the 30s in Brooklyn. She made a whole roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, a salad with homemade dressing, and a pumpkin pie for dessert from pumpkins they grew in their garden. Everything was from their farm—the story of Clint killing the turkey had the children covering their ears and Bucky and Natasha in stitches—and it made Bucky crave a real home in a way he hadn't since being back. There was a comfort in the Barton home that enveloped him, and he could tell Natasha felt it too.

She sat in the chair next to him, leaned back and relaxed, Lila on her lap and Cooper's head on her shoulder. She had a lazy smile on her lips, a beer at her fingertips, and an empty plate reflecting just how much she'd eaten. The atmosphere looked good on her. So good Bucky wanted to wrap his arm around her chair and lean in, sharing in the closeness she was sharing with the kids. He didn't though, couldn't bring himself to.

Nate has insisted on sitting on Bucky's other side, and as dinner wore on, he'd grown more and more comfortable with the child and his chatter, even interacting with him a few times. He'd also successfully fed the dog a few table scraps, and Bucky couldn't hide the grin as he watched. It seemed Lucky knew just where to sit to grab a few green beans and a piece or two of turkey.

The conversation was casual, and it was all Bucky needed. Talk of the rusty tractor, the wild foals, the upcoming hay harvest, it was easy conversation and it left Bucky feeling as normal as he could feel. It was a lightened feeling he hadn't anticipated. The beer went down smooth and for a moment he wondered what it would take to build a house out here. The romanticism of it had him caught up. But it was better than the internal fury he'd been living the last few weeks. He'd take it.

"Why do you have long hair?" pulled him from a discussion about building fences with Clint, Lila staring at him inquisitively. His hair was still pulled back in a bun low on his head, but a few pieces had fallen around his face to be brushed behind his ears. Bucky didn't really have an answer for her question, so he answered honestly.

"I like it," he shrugged a little, turning his full attention to the young girl, who eyed his dark hair with almost mischief.

"Can I braid it?" she asked as soon as he answered. Caught off guard, his mouth fell open for a moment before he stumbled through a nervous reply.

"Sure, I guess, if you want to," he replied and no sooner were the words spoken, Lila was standing and politely asking her mother if she could be excused to braid "Mr. Bucky's" hair. Laura couldn't hide her smile as she told Lila she was excused, and the young girl took Bucky's hand and all but dragged him off to the living room, explaining all the way how good he would look. He never looked back to see Natasha's fond smile and surprise.

After an afternoon of nervous habits and a quiet super soldier, he finally seemed to be relaxing. She gave herself a little credit for being able to show him a different side of life. Maybe these few days would be really good for him.

And hour later, the reveal of Bucky's hair in a mixture of braids and ponytails had Natasha and Laura giggling and Clint glad he left his hair cut short. Bucky was no worse for the wear, chuckling right along with the women but defending his hair stylist completely. Lila seemed to adore her new client and how couldn't she, Natasha wondered?

Natasha shamelessly took a picture when Bucky wasn't looking. It was a new memory she needed to be sure they kept.

On their last night, Natasha was removing the tiny braids Bucky had dutifully worn over the last three days for Lila, who enjoyed her morning orange juice while Bucky enjoyed his morning coffee as he let her braid his shower wet hair. It was always a dozen braids mixed into his hair, and she would let him pull it back while he helped her father around the farm. Natasha wasn't sure what she had enjoyed more, domestic James with a little girl in tow, or shirtless James mending fences. It was a toss-up. She could make do with either.

"I'm gonna miss my braids," he chirped, breaking the silence as Natasha worked out the second one, giggling a little at the small crimps they left behind.

"They looked good on you," she complimented with a little laugh, running her fingers through the freed strands before working on the next braid, pulling out the small elastic.

"Maybe I'll keep them," he said with mock seriousness that had her giggling more. The sound was a balm to his tortured soul. When her laughter quieted, he used the moment to confess his appreciation for the long weekend. "Nat…thank you for bringing me here. I feel a little more…whole than I have in a long time." He spoke quietly, fidgeting with the hairbrush in his hands, already looking forward to the moment she would run it through his hair. It had become a nightly routine while they'd been at the Bartons' and he was admittedly sad to see them leave it behind. It was nice spending the quiet time with her. Sharing the room with her had been tempting too, two twin beds only separated by a couple feet. He had watched her fall asleep every night, but couldn't bring himself to make a move yet. Were they ready? He wasn't sure. But would he ever be sure? He had no idea.

"That was the goal," she answered him quietly, but he could hear the smile in her voice. It was enticing. He wanted to see that smile.

"Well, another 'mission: accomplished' for you, Ms. Romanoff," he glanced up at her but she was too far behind him to see. With a small breath, he looked back down as she continued her work.

"'Mission: accomplished', huh? I didn't realize you were a mission for me," he could still hear the smile in her voice and this time he stilled her hands when he reached for her wrist and turned slightly on the bed where he sat, peering up at her with an honest, questioning look.

"I'm not?" It wasn't necessarily the question he wanted to ask, or the way he wanted to word it, but it opened the door for a conversation he had been longing to have with her.

"Of course not, James. You're a _person_ ," she clarified with a smirk that quickly faded when she realized just how serious he was looking at her. "You're much more than a mission, James," it was a quiet confession, but as her green eyes locked on his blues, he finally had more of an answer than he'd had in months.

"How much more?" he pulled her until she was between his jean-clad thighs for once, standing in her plaid pajama set, looking nothing like the deadly spy he knew her to be. She was just a woman embracing the farm life they'd been living the last few days and he was only a man. The black tank top he wore displayed all of who he was, metal and flesh, scarred. And she never blinked at any of it.

Natasha was quiet for a long moment, choosing her words carefully. It was vulnerable for her to admit anything about how she felt for anyone, but standing before this broken man who had seemed more healed the last three days than she had seen him yet, she could no longer hold it in. Her eyes softened and her heart pounded in her ears as she dropped her hands to his shoulders, her thumbs playing over the flesh and metal. "So much more."

"Sometimes I can't read you," he told her, matching her quiet, tender tone as he gazed up at her, trying in vain to read her features even now. "But I know I used to. And I want to…"

"It's complicated now," another shred of resistance she couldn't hold back, but it was dissipated by the shake of his head.

"It was always complicated," he told her wryly, a smile tugging at his full lips. Natasha had always been a sucker for those lips.

"How much have you remembered?" She'd wanted to ask him that for weeks, hadn't been able to for fear of being disappointed.

"Enough," he tried to assure her, his hands finding her hips over the flannel of her pajamas, grasping them gently.

"What is enough?" she questioned, swallowing at the feel of those hands she'd dreamt of finally touching her in a way that wasn't just friendly.

"Us…missions, undercover…intimately," Bucky let his eyes leave hers to roam down her curves and back up, visually appreciating her in a way no man had since him. She wasn't one to blush, but under his gaze, her body felt as though it was on fire. He hadn't looked at her like that in so very long, and how she craved it.

"I remember all of it," her raspy voice told him, his hands sliding up his neck to card through his hair slowly, the soft strands falling through her fingers in a way that told him she had done that more times than he knew.

"So tell me more," he almost pleaded, the want for her to do so clear on his handsome face. She studied him for a long moment.

"How would you know I meant what I said? That it was all true?" The vulnerability in her tone made his heart ache.

"Why would you lie to me?" he whispered, but he was sure in his question. He knew she would never.

An almost sad smile appeared on her lips and it left him gripping her hips a little harder, as if to keep her from disappearing before his eyes. "Why do you trust me?"

"I know I always have."

There was a finality in the way he spoke that left her reeling, left her questioning her silence. Bucky had trusted her back then, he was right about that. But was that the right reason to trust her now?

She leaned closer, tentative and taking her time, navigating this new territory. Bucky didn't rush her, and she suspected he was as nervous as she was. She continued to slip her fingers through his hair over and over, and his eyes fell shut after a few moments, his lips parting ever so softly. He reminded her of a cat in that moment and she couldn't help but let her smile grow ever so slightly.

"Being a farm hand is making you sappy, Barnes," she didn't lift her tone, leaving it soft as she spoke, letting the moment linger.

"I think it's making _you_ sappy. I've always been sappy," his voice was a little deeper, a little raspier than before. A wave of heat ran through her at the sound of it.

"This is true," she laughed low, leaning in closer to rest her forehead on his, their breaths mingling as they both contemplated who would make the next move. She ached to close the distance and he was desperate for it. They were so close, mere inches from their lips touching, an electricity pulling them in.

Bucky slipped his flesh hand up to her cheek, his thumb caressing over her skin as they each held their ground. He wasn't sure what kept him from leaning in, and he couldn't be sure what was keeping her from doing the same, but a kiss wasn't meant to be in that moment as Cooper knocked on the door frame, the pair separating immediately.

"Auntie Nat, can you and Bucky read us a story before bed?" Lila peeked her head around the corner and both adults couldn't help but smile at the kids.

"Of course, get in here," Natasha took a seat and leaned back amongst the pillows and Bucky followed suit, the kids crawling up to lay between them. Their shoulders brushed as Cooper handed Natasha the book he had brought for the occasion and they shared glances as she read to the children.

Bucky watched in silence, transfixed by her ease with them and her calm demeanor. Their previous moment rolled around in his head as she read to the pair, how close they'd come to kissing. It didn't scare him as much as he thought it might and now he _craved_ it. But it wouldn't be tonight, he knew that, and tomorrow they'd head back to the city and resume their duties. He was sad to see the weekend go but he was glad she'd brought him here. He'd found more of himself than he had hoped to, and was slowing finding his way back to her.

When was the last time Bucky had worn a suit? He had asked himself that at least ten times on the ride over to her place but Steve had insisted that it was the right thing to wear when your former lover invites you over for a four-course dinner she says she's cooking herself. So Bucky didn't question him, letting Steve take him out to buy one. He had wanted something black but Steve had insisted on blue. They finally agreed on a blue suit with a white button down, and Steve had convinced him to get a haircut. It was short, the length he remembered from his youth, but a little more modern.

It all had felt foreign and awkward at first but as he stood outside her door, knocking softly a few times, he decided it wasn't too uncomfortable. And if she appreciated it then it would all be worth it.

As she pulled the door open, Bucky felt his jaw slacken a little. It was a simple black dress with a v-neck cut, revealing just enough but also leaving some to the imagination, and it hit all the right places on her figure, flowing right at her knees. His eyes slid down over her, taking all of her in, only to land on the black strappy heels she wore to complement the dress. He had insanely toned legs as it was, but in the heels, something he didn't often see her in, it added a new element of definition. Her hair was down, long with a slight curl to the ends. She was the epitome of feminine tonight, and knowing she could kill him with those toned thighs had all the blood in his body rushing south. _Fuck_ , he groaned to himself.

They hadn't spoken since the night at Clint's about anything regarding them and that had been two months ago. The right opportunity just hadn't presented itself, and while Bucky wasn't exactly a patient man, the last he wanted to do was rush anything with her and screw it up. And of what he knew of his track record with her, while the circumstances hadn't been exactly in his favor back then, he wasn't taking any chances. She was too precious.

"You cut your hair," there was a wistfulness to her tone that brought him out of his stare, a self-conscious hand sliding up to fuss at the shorter locks, a few stray strands falling over his eyes in the front slightly. Steve had helped him style it, but he wasn't about to admit it. He suspected she would guess if prompted however.

"I...did. Wanted to try something new," he shrugged a little with a lopsided smile, a flush creeping up into his cheeks.

"I like it," she opened the door wider as she spoke, inviting him, hiding her smile as she turned to shut the door. "Makes you look younger too."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at that as he made his way into her apartment. It was well lit and well decorated, Art Deco and the rich grays and maroons gave off a warm, comfortable feel. He could completely see the decorating as her own. "Well thank God for that, I'm pretty damn old, I need all the help I can get."

"It helps," she giggled a little as she carried two glasses of red wine toward him, offering him one before extending hers in a cheers. "Thank you for coming tonight," there was a softness there he couldn't explain, but it made him step closer and gave him hope-maybe they would actually get to talk this time.

He clinked his glass against hers gently, before they each took a sip, "Thank you for having me."

There was a long pause between them, each regarding the other as they steadied themselves on solid ground, no threats around, no possible interruptions such as children. Bucky had however told her more than once over the last two months how much he wanted to go back to the farm. Natasha laughed and told him she was sure Clint would let them if he continued to help with repairs. She herself had no complaints there-Shirtless Bucky mending fences was a sight she wouldn't soon forget.

But tonight it was just them. And as nervous as they both were for the conversation that may lay ahead, they would each take it one minute at a time.

Natasha took a step back, heading for the kitchen as a timer beeped, drawing them away from their comfortable silence. "Let me just check the tenderloin and we can sit down and start with the shrimp," she explained as Bucky watched her pull open the stove and reach in with an oven mitten that read "World's Best Aunt" and he couldn't help but stifle a laugh. Those darn kids had her heart; he briefly wondered if there was any room for him in there in any way.

He sipped his wine, knowing she'd provided it for setting the mood, the wine unfortunately not able to take the edge off. It was good though, crisp and smooth. She had good taste, though he hadn't any doubt about that prior to now. "You really pulled out all the stops on dinner," he remarked as he leaned against the breakfast bar, enjoying the view as he watched her prepare the food.

"Well, I was trying to impress someone with my abilities," she tossed him a smirk over her shoulder as she tested the temperature on the meat.

He couldn't help but laugh a little, raising a brow, "Impress? You know you already impress me, showing me you can cook is just icing on the cake."

"Even if I told you I made the icing for the cake you're having for dessert later?"

"Well, _now_ I'm impressed."

And just like that they found their comfortable banter. Dinner conversation was easy and came naturally as they talked about Clint's farm and his kids, SHIELD, Steve, and some news topics Bucky had read recently. She giggled over the fact he read the New York Times every morning, and he was surprised to learn that when she wasn't working, she dabbled in cooking and she had a cat. He had yet to see it, but he took her word for it.

He skirted around some memories he had recently remembered, and she listened with rapt attention as he recounted a few missions with the Howling Commandos. Sometimes their age difference left her in awe that he still looked as handsome as he did, after everything he had endured. She was certainly smitten, that feeling never changed-well, maybe it grew deeper with every moment she spent with him.

When she told him of her recent trip to Paris to help a friend, she told him all about the food she tried, and the way the Eiffel Tower looked at night. Bucky hung on every word, between her stories and that light rasp she always carried in her voice, he was weak, in deep. Natasha had a way of consuming his every thought, every bit of his attention.

As she leaned over to serve dessert, she presented the small, round red velvet cake to him, confessing it took her two tries to get the recipe right. She regretfully stated she was better at cooking than baking but he assured her he didn't mind and that he was sure it would be delicious, all said with a sweet, tender smile. Bucky felt a slight wave of confidence as she stood beside him, almost between his thighs. He couldn't help himself as he slipped an arm around her petite waist and, catching her eyes, pulled her down sideways onto his lap. Flesh hand around her hip, he held her close as he picked up his fork, flashing her a smile and taking his first bite. And with the bite, he confirmed his words, her thighs clenching at the sinful moan he let out. "That is fuckin' _good,_ Nat," he complimented her, diving in for another big piece. She'd known Bucky to like his sweets, but watching him devour the homemade dessert was something else entirely. And she could have watched him eat the entire thing and found immense pleasure in it had he not stopped his incessant eating to offer her a bite, raising his fork to her lips.

Natasha's red painted lips parted to take the sweet bite, a slow nod acknowledging he had been right and it was indeed quite good. Then began a slow, somewhat sensual game of him taking one bite and then offering her the next, silence falling between them as he fed her small bites of red velvet cake, complete with the cream cheese icing he couldn't get enough of.

She wasn't sure when he had his fill, but he stopped taking his own bites and became content on only feeding her, watching those red lips swallow in every bite of the cake that he offered her. At first his looks were adoring and innocent, but Natasha watched as his pupils dilated and his face flushed a little, and she knew where they were headed. And there was nothing that would make her stop it now.

Taking his fork from him, Natasha set it down and shifted in his lap, now straddling his thick thighs as her hands came to rest on his broad shoulders. She shivered when his large palms came to rest against her ass, but his touch was anything but rough or forceful. Her eyes flickered over his hair as the fingers on her right hand came up to play in the short hairs on the back of his head, "I really do like the haircut. You left just enough on top," she complimented, slipping the fingers on her left hand through his dark hair, his eyes closing at her gentle touch. "You like to be pet more than Liho does," she commented playfully, entertained by the look of pleasure that crossed his features.

"I've missed your touch," he confessed quietly, forcing his blue eyes open to catch her green ones, searching them for understanding there.

Her look softened as he spoke. "Is that all you've missed?"

"No."

"What else?" Natasha pressed, unable to turn back now, needing to know if he was heading down the same road she was.

Bucky took a breath a slid his left hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he leaned up toward her, closing the distance between them with intent and want etched across his features. "This," he murmured before he finally took her lips, tentative and gentle at first, as though he was testing the waters.

Natasha hadn't been anticipating him to make the bold move just yet, had anticipated more talking, but when he leaned toward her, she was not denying him. She had craved this since before their near kiss at the Bartons'. As their lips touched, her soul was reignited with a fire she had long calmed, self-preserving in case she was never able to experience it again. And just like that, he set fire to her soul and she was his all over again. There was no question, no further words needed for her at that moment. His kiss said it all.

Bucky's lips moved against hers, questioning and testing but when she kissed him back with a little more determination, he let go. His hand tightened around her hair, and he kissed her back with fervor. And when she asked for entrance into his mouth, her sweet tongue slipping between his lips, he sucked in a breath and relented immediately, his own caressing hers in a way that drew the smallest of wanton moans from her.

Natasha had ached to feel his tight grip on her hair, the way his flesh hand gripped her ass just the right side of hard, pushing her slightly against him until their chests were pressed together. Her arms wound around his shoulders and one hand played with the hair on the back of his head, carding through and pulling every so often, when his tongue would rub hers in a way that left her shivering.

Bucky could hardly get enough of her lips before his were traveling down her neck, tasting every inch of skin exposed. He had a few memories of these moments between them, but he was learning her all over again in many ways. And he would take all night finding what made her writhe and what made her moan if she allowed him to. When his tongue slid up under her right ear, she quaked against him and her sharp inhale told him he had hit a good spot. Grinning, he teased the spot a few more times until he finally got the raspy moan he'd been yearning for followed by a hard tug to his hair that he knew was meant to only encourage him. And boy, did it encourage him.

Natasha was controlled, calculated, untrusting. But he never remembered her to be quiet. In their moments in his memories, she was loud, told him what she wanted and how, and responded when he made her beg, and made no problem whatsoever with making him beg. In the moans that followed now, he realized he was slowing breaking down a wall she seemed to have constructed since their time together. Bucky would do whatever it took to wreck that wall to the ground.

When he found a particularly sensitive spot on her throat, right on her pulse point, and her subsequent gasp and wicked moan, he acted on it by assaulting that spot with everything he had. Biting, licking, sucking until she was a squirming, moaning mess against his lap. _"James,"_ she panted sharply, but it only spurred him on as his mouth slipped lower, eyes closed, exploring over her left shoulder, two metal fingers pulled back the fabric of her dress then continued down toward her collar bone. Her skin was smooth under his kisses, his tongue snaking out every so often to be sure to taste her skin, enthralled in how she felt under his lips. He hadn't been anticipating the roughness of a scar and it brought him out of his want-induced haze, leaning back and opening his eyes to find the curious mark. And when his eyes landed on the small circular scar, his mouth went dry. He just _knew._

Natasha had been lost in a pleasureful daze, eyes closed and head back, her hips rutting against his whenever he hit a spot that made her weak. The man was an expert with his mouth, she knew just what he could do to her. In her haze of euphoria, she had entirely forgotten about the scar he had given her when he had shot her on the highway in Washington DC a few years ago. She mentally chastised herself as soon as his mouth ran over the rugged skin and he stopped. She had let herself get too wrapped up in the pleasure to make the marks known before he found them himself. _Shit_.

"I did this, didn't I?" Bucky's voice was gravelly and cracked as he asked the question they both knew the answer to. For a woman who always had an excellent poker face, he suspected their current proximity and heated moment had caught her off guard because her immediate worry and regret was written all over her face.

"James, no-" Natasha scrambled for any words that would save the moment and make him think it wasn't him. But she could tell he wasn't having any of it.

"Tell me," he pushed, his jaw set and his eyes telling her how much he needed to know. His flesh fingers continued to play over the scar, feeling the rough edges, and for a brief second he wondered if there was a matching one of the back of her shoulder. Had the bullet gone straight through? He knew the rounds he had shot, the ammunition they loaded his firearms with-everything was meant to kill.

The last thing she wanted was for their moment to be ruined. They'd come so far…"James, please don't-," she began again but he wasn't having any of her denial.

"Natalia," the name rolled off his tongue sharp and unyielding and she couldn't deny it any longer. Pushing herself away from him, Natasha stood, teetering slightly on her heels as she regarded him from a couple feet away.

"Yes. Okay? Yes, you gave me that scar. On the highway in DC," she explained, readjusting the neck of her dress to cover the scar, suddenly feeling exposed and as if she'd lost him all over again. She knew how hard Bucky could hate on himself, how deep that self-hate went and the last thing she needed was for that to be associated with her again. She had worked so hard to get past all of this with him. But now she watched him sit before her looking at her like he was the worst human being alive and it shattered her soul once more.

Bucky was having a hard time breathing. He knew he had hurt her, she had played off the slip, but he had dwelled on it. But the mark he left...the pain it must have caused. He wondered how much blood she lost, how she survived, if she had cursed him in that moment. She was so hard to read, it was hard to say. He owed her the apology of apologies, now adding this to the list of sins he needed to make up for somehow.

Standing, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides, raising his right hand slowly to pull back the dress once more, the raised skin on display for him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he stared at the scar.

"It's not your fault," she replied in the most soothing tone she could muster, a flicker of hope in her eyes that she hadn't lost him. Bucky continued to stare though, and she could only imagine the self-admonishing thoughts running through his mind. The wary look he gave her said enough. "James, it wasn't you."

"But it was. I did it. And I am so sorry," he said the words with such conviction she swayed a little as he cupped her cheek with his left hand, the chilly metal soothing to her heated skin. Eyes holding acceptance mixed with guilt, he let his thumb stroke her cheek, trying to navigate his next move. Bucky could only do so much to make up for what he had done to her. Maybe by showing her just how much he meant to her, how gentle he could be, how sorry he was, he could show her just how sorry her was for what he had done.

And so he kissed her. Bucky kissed Natasha with everything he had, slow and sweet but long, letting his tongue explore her mouth, tasting her in ways he had been dreaming about since that first glimmer of a memory, tasting her the way he used to. And she melted into him, her hands settling on his waist as she kissed him back, matching his tenderness.

She whimpered when his lips left hers and began to travel back down her neck, the taste of the wine and the red velvet making his kisses all the more enticing. He worked her up slow, the same spots as before, under her ear and down her over her pulse point until he was back on her shoulder, retracing his steps back to the scar he had left her, pulling the dress back one more time, but this time he purposefully kissed the skin, letting his lips cover the edges, letting his tongue outline the marred skin. Natasha shuddered and moaned, the sensations from the severed nerves sending shocks down her spine, all the way to her toes. Her breath caught in her throat as he circled the sensitive skin with his tongue slowly before placing one more kiss to the scar, raising his face to hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered again before pressing his lips to hers once more, this time picking her up with ease, her legs snaking around his waist as he moved off toward the hallway.

Bucky needed more of her, needed to show her and tell her how much he cared and how sorry he was. Natasha was desperate for him after all this time, and despite how much she hated the guilt he carried, if she could show him love in a way that might ease his self-loathing, she would do everything she could. Each had a point to prove to the other, a need to reassure the other with a common goal in mind.

Through a mix of kisses and moans, Natasha managed out, "Second door on the right," against his mouth, and he wasted no time carrying her over the threshold and into her bedroom. The elusive black cat looked on from her dresser as Bucky lay Natasha gently on her bed, pushing the dress up and pulling it over her head, relishing in the view of her curves in the light from the moon and the street lamps that illuminated her room. The black bra that her breasts spilled out of just right, down her trim stomach to the black panties that he needed to do away with first. But as she lay sprawled out on her bed, reaching for him, another small rough spot caught his eye down on her left side, just a few inches away from her navel.

Bucky slipped off the suit coat he was still wearing, tossing it away before he dropped to his knees, hovering over her abdomen. "And this?" he asked quietly, voice deep as he ran two flesh fingers over the mark.

"Outside Odessa, eight years ago. Slug went right through me," she explained in as few words as possible, her eyes never leaving his face as she tried to figure out his thoughts. He traced the lines, as if memorizing them.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured again through emotion, his eyes shining in the moonlight as he dropped his lips to the scar, giving it the same treatment he gave the other. He traced it with his tongue, caressed it with his lips, listening to her mewl as he drove her mad with his touch. His heart ached for knowing he had hurt her twice so violently, not to mention the way they were separated back after the Red Room. Making up for all the pain and lost time; that was all he wanted to do.

Natasha couldn't stop squirming under his lips. The scars were so sensitive, a mixture of numbness and oversensitivity making his ministrations all that more welcome and overwhelming. She clawed at his shoulders with her manicured nails, pulled at his hair in a way that made him groan and only encouraged him lower.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and this time Natasha chose to take a different route, because she knew otherwise her heart would break for him.

"Then make it up to me, _lover boy_ ," Natasha gave him a light smirk and spread her thighs wide, giving him no question as to just what she wanted from him. And despite the emotion in his eyes, the way his lips turned up slightly told her she hadn't lost him.

And she knew he would have no problem making it up to her that way. The man did always have an amazing mouth.

"Yes, ma'am," came that tinge of a Brooklyn accent again as he hooked his thumbs in each side of her panties and pulled them down her legs, tossing them off with his jacket on the floor. Bucky slid his hands up the outside of her thighs as he sprinkled kisses down the inside, dragging his stubble across her smooth skin until he met the apex of her legs. Inhaling deeply, he knew just how she would taste as though it was emblazoned in his mind and he could no longer wait, or torture poor Natasha with anticipation as she squirmed below hands that kept her hips down on the bed. Bucky buried himself between her thighs and the immediate and loud moan that Natasha let out was everything he could have hoped for and more.

Bucky devoured her as though he had been starved, expertly working her up until she was a mess beneath his mouth. His groans of enjoyment reverberated against her heated skin, and when he slid one metal finger inside her and curled it up, just how he knew she needed, she let go with an uncharacteristic cry. Back arching off the bed, Bucky watched with hungry eyes as Natasha writhed beneath his gentle grip on her left hip, his finger stroking her down in rhythm with his tongue as he eased her back from her release. He savored the way he could make her come undone after all these years just as easily as he remembered.

Easing his finger from her and leaning back, he worked his way back up her body, kissing over each scar with care and tenderness, before finding her lips. Natasha lay panting and sated until he was kissing her again, and she came alive, hands grabbing at his clothing, making him chuckle in her desire to get him naked.

"Too much clothing," she mumbled into his mouth as she unbuttoned his shirt with nimble, quick fingers, pushing it from his shoulders and pulling his tank top off with ease. He chuckled as her hands fell to his belt with a swiftness that reminded him just what she was capable off. Bucky kissed her crazy, reveling in her little moans as she undid his belt and pushed the suit pants past his hips, his aching length finally released from confines. With a heavy sigh as she wrapped her slender fingers around him, he did his best to discard his pants without letting her remove her hand, leaning into her touch with a heavy groan of his own.

"Natasha…," it came out cracked and gravelly as she repositioned herself onto her knees, a dirty grin on her beautiful face as she swirled the tip with her tongue and sucked him into her mouth without further ado. Before Bucky's hand tangled in her hair, he unhooked her bra and let those full breasts fall free, his free hand grasping one as his other found her hair. And while he didn't guide or push, his fist tightened the lower she went on him and the more of him that entered her hot mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head. Despite his super-soldier serum coursing through his blood, it had been utterly too long and he knew he wouldn't last, regardless of what he wanted. "Wait...wait...lay back," he panted, his tone just desperate enough to make her let him leave her mouth with questioning eyes. "I have to have you."

And as though those were magic words, she moved to lay on her back against the pillows, watching him crawl up her body. His lips accompanied his hands as he moved, grasping and pleasing and kissing and caressing as he went, working her back up into a moaning, needy mess. When he finally reached her breasts, his left hand kneaded and caressed one while his mouth assaulted the other and he had Natasha all but begging for him to take her. With a hint of a smile, he settled between her thighs at her panting request, kissing her deeply as he pushed into her slowly.

Natasha couldn't help the moans that left her lips as he filled her in a way she hadn't felt since him. He hit all the right spots and stretched her just right. It took her a moment to adjust, and he was gracious as he waited for her to accommodate him, tense and panting, his lips sucking small angry red spots on her neck. Natasha's hand slipped down to cup his ass, pushing him into her when she was ready, earning a loud groan from him in return. He loved it when she got handsy with him.

And so he took her, just as she guided, just as she wanted. Slow at first but heated and relentless by the end. As he started to move, he kissed over her scar on her shoulder once again, before dragging his lips back up to her neck, leaving a wake of stubble burn on her skin.

She could not have cared less, every touch and kiss and stroke of his length driving her blissfully crazy. Natasha lifted her thighs, encouraging him deeper and meeting him thrust for thrust as his intensity and speed grew. "James... _fuck_ ," she swore, her head thrown back in the pillows as he rolled his hips just right, rubbing against her as he took her. Her reaction only egged him on, and he let himself lose a little control, pushing up on his palms to take her harder, met with her passionate moans, the language slipping from English to Russian as they spoke heated words and curses to one another. Her nails scratched down his back the harder and deeper he took her but he loved the sting, the sweet mixture of pain and pleasure.

Bucky thought she looked like a goddess, hair splayed around her on the pillow, the shadows and light across her face as she threw her head back and her mouth fell open, the prettiest moans falling from her lips. He _ached_ to hear those moans coming from her as he drove her to her edge. He was close behind, lips on hers as he took her with unyielding strength, knowing she could handle everything she could give.

"Come on, doll...let me feel you….come for me again," he urged her, his own release racing toward him as he chased hers.

His words rocked her to her core, making her quiver and shake as she found her blissful release below him, holding onto him for dear life as she lost her mind. "James!" she cried out, back arching and head falling back as those beautiful eyes shut to let her indulge in the sweet release.

Natasha clenched around him as he finally met his own end, her name falling off his lips as he buried his head in her neck and groaned his way through the moment. In that moment, he felt lighter and more at ease than he had since he had been back. Somehow the heaviness of the pain he'd caused her wasn't dragging the moment down, and he credited that to the way she handled it, and him. She had an incredible grace about her. He was in awe.

When he was finally able to raise his head, he was met with misty green eyes and a sated, genuine smile he would remember forever. "Don't move," she whispered, her hands slipping into his hair to bring him down for another kiss.

"I'm not going anywhere," he quickly assured her, kissing her back and letting their euphoria linger. He wanted to apologize again, but he held off, not wanting to tinge the moment. They kissed and touched for several long, lazy moments, neither of them caring to move for any reason whatsoever. There was no place else they'd rather be.

Natasha's thighs wrapped around his waist as though to plant him there and he grinned against her lips. "You'll stay the night?" she murmured in between kisses and he let out a low moan and nodded.

"If you'll have me," he replied sweetly, leaning up to kiss her forehead, utterly thankful for all that had transpired between them that night.

Natasha chuckled in her raspy tone, dragging her own lips down his neck, turning the tables, "I'm not quite finished with you yet." She pushed him over onto his back with her grace and strength. His laughter was light as her hair fell around them, tickling his cheeks. She leaned over to kiss him, working her lips down his neck, over his shoulders as she felt him start to swell within her once more. It was slow as she worked him up, but he was once again thankful for his quick rebound rate.

Their night didn't include much sleep, but neither of them would have had it any other way. They had waited so long to have each other again they could not bear to be separated. And when they finally slept, it was peaceful and deep, a satisfied sleep that wouldn't end with them gathering their things and running in opposite directions in the morning. And maybe that above all was the sweetest part. There was hope now. Hope for them.

Bucky was roused by the smell of strong coffee. He pried his eyes open, the sunlight bright as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Natasha's room. He hadn't seen it in the light. But now as he looked around, he realized that was where he was. In her bed. In her place beside him though was a soft black cat. Liho, he realized as he let his flesh hand scratch the animal's head gently.

Reluctantly pushing himself up, he grabbed a towel off her bathroom door and wrapped it around his waist. Bare feet padding out into the kitchen, the sight he found made him stop and do a double take. Pouring two cups of coffee in his button-down shirt and wearing what could only be called sex hair, Natasha stood in the kitchen looking like Christmas morning to him.

"Good morning, sleepy head. I was just about to wake you," she greeted cheerfully as she turned to face him, handing him the one of the mugs of fresh coffee. He took it but set it down beside him on the counter almost in the same second. Coffee was not what he needed this morning. She watched him curiously as he stalked toward her, leaving only a moment for her to set her own coffee down, knowing just what he wanted.

"You're insatiable," she laughed out as he picked her up and set her on the kitchen island. He was pleased to find she had chosen to wear nothing beneath his shirt.

"If I recall, you definitely instigated rounds two and four," he corrected, sliding his hands up her porcelain skin and under the shirt. She shivered at his touch.

"Technicalities," she rolled her eyes playfully, leaning back on her elbows as his mouth began to roam her hips.

And there on her kitchen island, he enjoyed his first breakfast of that morning, embracing whatever was blooming between. But it wouldn't end the way it had last time. They would navigate this together and Bucky wouldn't let anything tear them apart this time. He finally had her. And she had him. They wouldn't lose each other again.

And amidst all, there would be less self-hate and more self-love, blossoming organically between the pair as it had the first time. They each had their mistakes, their sins, and their troubled pasts. But they had one thing in common all those years, each other and their love. They were soulmates. It had taken them far too long to come across one another the second time, but this would be the final time. And they would embrace it for all it was worth.


End file.
